


In the Forests of Arden

by orphan_account



Series: Engineers of the Soul [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastardizing Shakespeare, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Mommy Issues, Oral Sex, Post-Battle of Starkiller Base, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Readjustment to Civilian Life, Urban Hellscape, Why Did I Write This?, hardcore domestic fluff, honestly tho, kinda resembles a modern au, kylo ren gets a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6930232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starkiller's gone. The First Order has disappeared into the shadows, and so have Kylo Ren and Lena Alyan, two of its highest ranking members. It's just a matter of time until someone finds them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Rekt Duke Senior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All the world’s a stage,  
> And all the men and women merely players;  
> They have their exits and their entrances,  
> And one man in his time plays many parts,  
> His acts being seven ages."  
> \- Jacques, Act II Scene VII, Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'

She would help him, I knew that. She took an oath, even if she was family. It felt like an eternity before I heard the door downstairs creak shut. Her footsteps, as delicate and dainty as they ever were, sounded just as familiar as they had when I was a child.

It’s strange the way sounds stick with you. The screams of drunks stumbling out the open doors of beyond seedy cocktail bars, the screech of hyper-speed trains trammelling through the streets, the clicking of misshapen market stall wheels along cobblestone streets. I watched it all from the balcony without so much as a coherent word or thought, only disturbed when a cup was thrust below my face. I took it with unsteady hands, spilling half the contents onto the ground and street below.

“Have you been here all night?”

I nodded without looking at her.

“It’s cold out. You’ll catch something.”

I shrugged, then raised the half-empty cup to my lips.

“Shit!” I was caught by surprise by the scalding hot caffa. The cup smashed into pieces on the balcony’s flooring.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Well, I should have noticed,” I admitted, quietly. She offered me hers, but I wouldn’t take it. My stomach couldn’t handle it.

We stood side by side for a short while that felt far too long, watching the city snap out of its nighttime reverie, back to the daily drudgery. She spoke first, though neither of us bothered to avert our eyes from the scene below.

“I’ve called in to work. I have the week off.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think he’s going to die.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying that?”

“Not everyone lies for a living, Lena.”

I felt a hand trying to take mine, and relented, letting her intertwine my fingers with hers.

“I don’t think he’s going to die. And I can promise you I will do everything in my power keep him alive.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“No.”

She sighed, a little defeated, a little annoyed.

“Lena, come inside.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Lena, I can’t handle two patients at once.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now sit down,” she patted the seat next to her, and when I gave in she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tight. She was always stronger than she looked. I chalked it up to the battlefield, but fuck if I know.

“It’s not going to be like your father.”

“You literally cannot know that.”

“Lena Alyan.”

There it was. That fucking tone.

“It’s not.”

I huffed into her side. Was it petty? Yes. Did I care? Not really.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am. These are very different circumstances. Let’s see – for one, you managed to get him out of a war zone. All of his injuries, as far as I can tell, are strictly physical. And treatable. And he’s got something to live for – doesn’t he?”

“Mmph.”

“You could have told me you got married.”

“I could have told you a lot of things, mother. You wouldn’t have believed them.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You never did strike me as the type to go for a military man. I thought we raised you better than that. At least, I certainly did.”

“Apple, tree.”

“I guess. I just hoped you’d make better decisions.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It can’t be helped.”

She shifted from my side, letting me out of her vicegrip.

“Should I go check on him?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Right.”

I’d hoped she’d have the decency to leave me to my thoughts for a while longer. But hope is a stupid thing. I felt her hand on my shoulder, a lopsided smile wide across her face.

“The patient has requested your presence.”

“He’s-“

“Yes.”

I took the stairs slowly – lack of sleep, food, and sense will do a number on your balance – clinging to the bannister all the while. She’d set him up in my old room. He was, to no one’s surprise, far too large for my childhood bed, but that didn’t seem to bother him so much as the life-threatening injuries.

He smiled wide, his teeth glowing the dim yellow light. He must have been off his head on painkillers.

“Lena, where are we?”

“Titian. It’s the Confederation capital. Don’t worry, no one knows we’re here, except Iggs, and he piloted us here, so you’re not allowed to kill him anymore.”

“And your mother.”

“Huh?”

“You look exactly like her.”

“You take that back right now.”

“No, I think I need a closer look.”

He sat up as best he could, wincing slightly before settling into a cross-legged pose against a mountain of pillows, and motioned me forward with one hand. I sat down beside him as gingerly as possible, and him cup my chin with his unbandaged hand. In all my worry to avoid upsetting the bedsprings or accidentally elbowing him in the stomach, it didn’t occur to me what he’d done until after he’d pressed his lips against mine, dry and chapped, but so familiar, so gentle, so calm.

“No, you do. I’m sure of it.” He smiled again, completely blissed out, before pushing a few hairs back behind my ear.

“You’re not allowed to kiss my mother.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. As soon as you’re patched up, we’re never going to see her again.”

“Why?”

“You’re not the only one that’s allowed to have family issues, Kylo.”

He leaned back, collapsing into the pillows. I drew patterns along his skin as he stared into the ceiling.

“We’ll have to find somewhere to live – some kind of employment – new identities –“

“All that can wait until you don’t have a gaping hole in your side.”

“Your mother said that could take weeks.”

“It probably will. That gives us plenty of time to think. So, sweetheart, give it some thought – who do you want to be?”


	2. First Age (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, the infant,  
> Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, the boy's slightly out of character, but he's also off his head on painkillers, soooooooo w/e

My first expedition from the safety of the high-rise was deeply, maybe even disappointingly, uneventful. From the moment I stepped out the door I was just another private citizen, commuting to who the fuck cares on the westbound bullet out of the Financial Sector. Nothing changes on the metro, except the fare.

I wasn’t worried about being recognised. With the exception of a few brief and brutal moments in the public eye, I was anonymous, walking with shoulder hunched and feet dragging, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

The Tech Sector was hardly the kind of place where people followed the news. Meeting here was almost as safe as it got. I rounded the corner off a main boulevard, headed for the drop point.

It’s a café. Don’t get so excited.

After rapping the door twice it slid open, revealing the bright, blue-lit interior of the café, almost empty in the mid-morning between the daily rushes. People around here had regular office jobs. It was almost nostalgic.

“Aurelius.”

“Selena.”

“How’ve you been?” I asked, smile wide, even toothy, making sure that anyone listening could just overhear.

“As well as ever. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain.”

To you, at least.

Aurelius Vitishin, if that was his real name. Three years ago it was Bernard, six years ago it was Maximillian. And that was just to me. No one knew where he came from, or why he chose his line of work – he never seemed to need any money.

If anyone does, Aurelius Vitishin controls the Confederation’s political system. He gets people elected, and parties destroyed. He plants evidence on the opponents of the day and traces less-than-salubrious donors. He’s had a least two people killed, one for trying to take his job, the other for finding out about the first guy.

He’s everything I dream of being.

“So what is it you need from me?”

I’d promised him an extortionate sum for a simple job. I could have done it myself, but he had better connections.

“I need some additional evidence for a case I’m working on. You see, some, uh, exonerating material got lost in a small workplace incident. Dig?”

“Certainly. So you think there might be copies in the government archives?”

“Yeah. Under data protection.”

“You got a list?”

I kept my tone even, but made sure to watch the faces around us. Unconcerned. Uninterested.

“Two birth records, enrolment information, and degrees. Professional level, but nothing too fancy. Mid-tier. Records of residence going back at least four years, Titian or commuter belt. Employment histories.”

“Who’s the other one for?”

“Shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I need a name.”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know. How’s Arthur?”

“Didn’t you used to date a guy named Arthur?”

“Yeah. You remember him. Tall, dark-hair, on the quiet side.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I remember Arthur.”

“Great. Can you do that?”

“Absolutely. I’ll ring you if I need anything else,” he said, before draining the rest of his cup in one gulp, setting in down on the hard plastic table with a heavy thud. I sat for a moment, waiting for him to say or do something. The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you planning on moving in?”

“Good seeing you, Aurelius. Keep in touch.”

He nodded, head angled slightly towards the door. I took the substantial and unnecessary hint.

The orient express was as dull and grey as its suited riders. In fact, nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary until I’d returned home to find the early afternoon sun streaming into an empty room.

“Mother!”

“Yes?”

This was the great Alyan tradition, yelling across the flat so loudly it could be heard from the street below.

“Where’s Kylo?”

“Kitchen!”

“What?”

“Kitchen!”

Okay, so I did hear her correctly.

And she was right, too. He was leaning against the long and narrow kitchen counter, one foot across the other ankle, only just meeting the floor.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? Resting?”

Resplendent even in decades-old, too-small button downs and rather revealing boxers. That was another thing I’d have to do, buy new clothes.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Let the record show that he did, indeed, look absolutely ridiculous. His shirt was only half-buttoned, the collar dipping down almost to his chest like the heroes in the old romance holovids we used to watch in school, masking adolescent desire behind a cloud of smoke and several smuggled beers. And even with his hair a little matted – and a little greasy – even with a wad of gauze plastered across his face, even with his lips still split open from the exposure to the cold, he was unequivocally, undeniably, unmistakably the most magnificent sight I’d ever seen. And he was mine.

“Just don’t let my mother see you like this, okay?”

“She already has – she’s the one who offered them to me.”

Mother has a great bedside manner honed from several years comforting the innumerable mangled soldiers that came and went on the frontiers. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Quite frankly, I’m shocked it took her that long to undress a ‘special ops’ soldier.

“That… that actually doesn’t surprise me. But why did she let you get up?”

“I was restless.”

“But-“

“I’m fine.”

He closed the distance between us in a single step, and without warning lifted me off the ground, his lips meeting mine before he set me back down again. His hands left massive flour prints at my waist.

“Don’t do that again,” I warned him, hugging him as close as I dared while safely at ground level, speaking into his more than exposed chest.

“I’ve got our papers lined up. No problem at all.”

“Thank the gods,” he said airily, “I was worried about you.”

“Yeah, sounds like it.”

“I was!” he protested, giggling just a little and pushing me back with both hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes were shining and bright as I’d ever seen them, his pupils wide and eyelids slightly drooped, glazed over. I’d never seen him so relaxed, so unconcerned.

“Okay, okay. But I’m gonna have to ruin your high, sweetheart.”

“And why’s that?”

“I may or may not have renamed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Arthur?” I shrugged slightly, and he laughed, pulling me back into him.

“I love it. You chose well.” He kissed my forehead before his hands travelled down from my shoulders, settling to knead my ass. It was almost sweet, and for a moment I gave in but – flour hands on navy fabric.

“Stop that, my mother’s bound to walk in any moment.”

“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of. Arthur is a very sexual being.” With one last squeeze he pulled away to turn towards the oven, watching it with what a less familiar person might call murderous intent.

“What did she give you?”

“It came in a white bottle.”

“All the pills come in white bottles, dork.”

“Investigate later.” He waved me off with one hand, the other around the handle of the oven door.

“Hey!”

He started slightly, turning to me with a puzzled grin.

“You’ll burn yourself. Here.”

“Thanks.” The blast of heat from the oven vindicated me.

“Will you promise to only bake sober when I’m not around?”

“I promise nothing.”

The room filled with the smell of fresh bread, so warm and delicate. I felt arms wrap around me from the back, pulling me in again.

“I was worried about you,” Kylo nuzzled my neck, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?” His hands sank into the sides of my hips again as he left a trail of kisses along my neck.

“You could sleep.”

“Lena,” he pouted.

“Please. You need to heal.”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

“Shhh. By the time you’re up, I’ll have dinner ready.”

“In bed?”

“We’ll see.”

He ran a powdery hand through my hair before leaving.

I waited there for a few minutes, letting the glorious smell soak in before taking a knife to the loaf and cutting off a small piece of the heel.

“You didn’t tell me he bakes.”

I almost dropped the knife on my toe.

“Hello, mother.”

“He’s in the shower. I need to redress that wound, and he wouldn’t let me while you were out.”

“Why not?” I asked around a mouthful of bread.

“He wouldn’t sit still.”

“So you let him get up?”

“He was very convincing. I’m sure he learned that from you.”

“I doubt it.”

“No, probably not. He’s polite.”

Okay, that’s fair.

“Rude.”

“Oh, I like him, Lena. You chose well.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I have your approval.”

“No, I mean it. He’s a very nice man, honey.”

“Sure thing.”

“And he’s not at all unattractive, either.”

“Mother.”

“I can notice these things. I’m not as old as you think I am.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Well, I just-“

“Mother. Please.”

“Fine. You be petty, I’ll just be here, saving lives.”

“Keep him safe, I’m going back out.”

“Where?”

“Market. And the Atelier’s District.”

“Keep safe.”

“Really? I wasn’t planning on it.”

* * *

“How are you feeling?”

I kept my voice low and my footsteps light. The sound of drunken revelry from the streets below was enough clatter.

He looked so ethereal in the yellow moonlight.

“Lonely.”

“I’ll sit with you, if you like.”

“You could sit on top of me.”

“Not tonight. Good effort, though.”

“So you’re not even going to try.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

“Please? I miss you.” He was begging. It was, in all honestly, adorable.

“I’m right here.”

With his bottom lip poking out ever so slightly, he opened his arms expectantly.

“If you suffocate me in my sleep, I will never forgive you,” I warned him, cautiously curling up at his side, as far away from his still-bandaged waist as possible.

“I’ll take the risk,” he nestled his chin awkwardly on my head, manoeuvring towards me to wrap both arms around me before squeezing, hard, like he needed to prove he still could. All I felt was the rank heat of the wound pulsing against me.

“It’s not infected.”

“How would you know?”

“Your mother is good at her job,” he teased, offering a kiss as a deeply unsatisfactory apology.

“You should try to get along with her.”

“I’ll pass.”

“I already told her she’s allowed over any time.”

“You didn’t even think to ask?” I tried to back away, but only succeeded in almost falling out of bed, saved only by a leg hooked around my waist.

“You would have said no.”

“Of course I would have said no.”

“Too late now. I guess there’s nothing else we can do about it, except hatefuck.”

“You wouldn’t dream of it.”

With his leg fast against my back he drew me in even closer, almost on top of him.

“It’s been ages,” he whispered hoarsely, the soft teasing of a few moments before gone completely.

“But-“

“I’m not a doll.” He rolled his hips against me, forcing his bulge against my side.

“I know that.” I offered a soft kiss, and his lips opened against mine, tongue sliding against mine all too briefly. When he pulled back, he grabbed the hand resting against his chest, guiding it down beneath the sheets.

“If she hears us, you’re a dead man.”

“I don’t think so. She’s a great admirer of mine.”

“I’ve noticed. And it’s not her you need to worry about,” I said, leaving him with one last peck on the cheek before ducking out of his embrace, scrambling awkwardly across the bed.

“What are you doing?”

As if he didn’t know.

“Why are you even still wearing these?” I looked back up at him over my shoulder before hooking a thumb under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to his calves.

“Can you keep quiet for me?” I asked, lips pursed, one hand just beginning to lazily stroke the shaft of his cock, already half-hard from deprivation.

“I can try.”

“Not good enough.” I withdrew to walk my fingers along his thigh, feeling the taut flesh quiver underneath them.

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

“Good. Now move up.”

He shifted backwards, moving to sit against the headboard, one hand resting on the small of my back.

I kept teasing him as long as I dared, placing fast, fluttering kisses along the length of his inner thighs, rubbing circles into them as he grew harder, his erection soaring to the fucking sky.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” I whispered when he finally broke, his hips jerking up slightly. With one sidelong glance to his pleading eyes, I parted my lips and took his head into my mouth, feeling the pulsing heat of his cock against the roof of my mouth.

_Quiet._

With one hand gripped around the base of his shaft I took him further in, letting the flat of my tongue run stripes along the underside of his length, my free hand treading the sensitive skin of his balls.

He purred from the sensation, his hips involuntarily bucking up against me, forcing him further down my throat.

He tasted different than I remembered, probably the result of the antiseptics filling the air, but the feel of him, hot and hard inside me, was familiar as ever. I swallowed around his cock, feeling the paths of protruding veins against the walls of my mouth.

“Yes – going to come –“ he hissed out in ragged breaths. I hummed around the length of his shaft, and he grunted deeply, spilling his release into my throat with a final thrust of his hips.

It took a moment for him to soften, and after I had wiped the drool from my jaw he flipped me onto my back, beckoning me with two fingers back into his arms.

When I acquiesced he drew the bedsheets up around us, his free hand disappearing below the silk.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he mumbled, nearly astonished as he probed sightlessly against me.

“Just for you, gorgeous.” I took the hand exploring against me in my own, guiding him inside.

Two fingers filled me, the overgrown nails slightly digging into the slick walls.

“Please, darling, I want more.”

“Can you be quiet?”

“How dare you throw my own words back at me,” I whispered into his mouth, rolling my hips against his fingers, aching for more sensation.

“Will you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good.”

So fucking smug.

“More,” I whined into him, “I need more.”

He slipped a third finger in effortlessly, wordlessly, drawing a desperate groan from me before he slapped his free hand across my face, muffling any cries.

“Quiet,” he said, pointlessly when his hand was already wrapped tight across my mouth. I bit his finger and he pulled back, letting me breathe easy for just a moment.

“So inconsiderate,” he hissed, the soft and sordid noises of three fingers pumping in and out of me only just muffled by the bedsheets, “you wouldn’t want to wake your poor neighbours, would you?”

I kissed him as an answer, helplessly wriggling against him, riding his fingers harder, praying they’d find that perfect spot-

“Ah!” I squeaked out into his flexing arm, choking back a scream by biting onto the flesh.

“Naughty.” He rolled my clit in circles around his thumb, only letting up when I ground my hips against him, desperate for just that much more friction, just the little bit that would push me over.

“Kylo…”

“Hush. I’m going to let you come,” he whispered in between quick, sloppy kisses that missed their mark as often as they hit, “but only because if I don’t, I know you’ll throw a fit.” His fingers curled inside me, each one pressing against the flesh so sweetly, so deliciously, it was unbearable.

“Please.”

“Always,” his fingers spread inside me, his thumb pressing down, rubbing harsh and fast against me, until the tension building inside me snapped. My legs clamped tight against his arm as blissful fucking relief washed over me, my thoughts, my worries drowned out in ecstasy.

My breath came in fast, unsteady gulps as I came down from my high.

“Can I have my hand back now?”

“Oh – sorry.”

My legs had since turned to jelly, but Kylo had waited until I opened them slightly, letting him slide his fingers out gently before lifting them to his lips.

He slid down the headboard to meet me at eye level. I’m sure his feet were dangling off the end.

“You still taste like Corellian wine.”

“You still taste like semen.”

“No.” His arm held me pinned in place, unable to move. “Stay with me.”

The sounds from the street below streamed in through the window, a drunken, uneven lullaby from the city.

“I bought you new clothes,” I mumbled into Kylo’s chest.

“Thank you.”

“Tomorrow I’m meeting with Iggs.”

“Okay.”

“Any preferences for the new place?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Wait – somewhere we can be loud.”

“Dork. I love you.”

He sighed, enveloping me in a knot of arms and legs. In a matter of minutes his breathing had slowed to a soft rise and fall, but I was still stuck in place, head resting just right to hear the beating of his heart.


	3. Second Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel  
> And shining morning face, creeping like snail  
> Unwillingly to school.

I stood in the doorway as I had every day for weeks, waiting for some sign of life from the lump in the middle of the room. When it wasn’t forthcoming, I whispered to it.

“Kylo?”

I got a muffled grunt in response, and he shifted beneath a heap of blankets to face me.

“No, don’t get up.”

“I’m not-“

“I know, I know. But you don’t have to.” I’d crossed the floor to sit on the foot of the bed before he could protest further, that he was fine, honestly, that he always gritted his teeth when standing up and I was being paranoid, that it was completely normal for a grown man to yelp like a dog if touched the wrong way.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but – what time is it?”

“It’s mid-day, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

The news didn’t seem to please him, but he had stopped at sitting up. I reached over, taking one hand and pulling him gingerly into my lap, letting my chin rest on the crown of his head as he sank down.

“I found a place for us.”

He mumbled a response before ducking away slightly, nuzzling his head against my chest until I gave in, running lazy fingers through his tangled hair while I continued.

“The owners didn’t ask any questions. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than here. We can leave as soon as you feel able.”

“I’ll leave whenever you want me to.”

“Not until you’re better.”

“I’m healthy.”

“Not good enough. I’m waiting for the seal of approval from our erstwhile nurse.”

“I like her.”

“You’ve told me.”

“She’s caring.”

“She’s a nurse.”

He craned his neck back slightly, the bright amber light of his eyes just barely peeking out a fluffed and knotted forest of hair.

“You know she loves you.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“You don’t act like it.”

I shrugged, suddenly fascinated with rolling dark coils between my thumb and forefinger.

“Why do you care?”

He sighed, head lolling to one side before I caught it in the crook of my elbow.

“I’m not sure.”

He slid further down, now resting his head safely in lap while sprawling across the bed like a ragdoll, his feet propped up by cracked heels against the headboard. For a long while the only sounds in the room had wafted up from the street below. His voice came out unexpected, low and cracking.

“Where’s home?”

“It’s on the other side of the planet.”

“Oh.” A short pause, considering. “How are we getting there?”

“Same way you get anywhere else. Train.”

“Train?”

“Yes. You’ve seen one before, I’m sure.”

“I understand the concept, I’ve just never had to…make use of it.”

“Really?”

“What’s it like?”

“Whatever they are, lower your expectations.”

“I don’t know what to expect.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the way things are going now.”

“You’re staying, too, right?”

What?

“What?”

“Are you staying?”

“Huh?”

“…with me.”

I ran one hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose and shielding my eyes from contact.

“Of course I am. Obviously, I am.”

“Oh.”

He settled a bit, turning on his side to stare out the window. I assume that’s what he did during most of his waking hours, and as they grew longer I couldn’t imagine there was much he had yet to see. His breathing slowed, even and light, at peace for lack of anything better.

“I’m staying, okay? We can be together here, and it doesn’t matter to anyone. There’s nothing in the way anymore. You need to relax, darling.”

“Nothing in the way?”

He’d closed his eyes, but his tone was one of confusion.

“Nothing at all.”

His eyelids fluttered slightly before he squeezed them shut.

“I-“ he paused, a long exhale sending stray hairs flying off his face.

“I just- people will know – people will see –“ he gave up, gesturing weakly with his hand, almost covering his face.

“Kylo, no one has any idea who you are. People won’t know anything. People never know anything.”

“They’ll still see,” he pouted, his lips unconsciously pursed.

“See what?”

He was now not even trying to formulate words. I mean, I knew he was worried about the injuries. We’d tried scar creams, military grade antiseptics. No dice. The faint pink line, running jagged across his face, seemed to cause him special anguish – I had caught him running his fingers along it when he thought he was alone.

“Kylo, who gives a shit? I think you look distinguished.”

He sat up on one elbow, looking back up at me with eyes severe and searching. I took his hand in mine when I felt the familiar sensation of phantom fingers flitting around the edges of my mind, trying to pick it apart unnoticed.

“I’m not lying. It’s just one scar. Plenty of people have them.”

“…I know.”

“I mean, I could graft together some sort of helmet for the train, but-“

“Unnecessary.” He answered a little too quickly.

“Okay.”

* * *

Ten minutes in the public sphere utterly unmolested had invested the now unmasked Kylo Ren with too much confidence for my liking. This was the third time he’d elbowed me in the short distance between the penultimate stop and our destination – the first to ask What That Thing Was (a cat, don’t you have cats?); the second to ask What the Word is (I don’t know, I think it’s a name?). This time, he was grinning widely, and moved closer to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“About the apartment-“

“Yes?”

 “Maybe I could build something.”

“It’s fully furnished.”

“But is there a sizeable bed?” He moved one hand to loop around my waist.

“We are in public,” I hissed, not looking at him until he nudged me again.

“You always say I’m so good with my hands, so…” he trailed off, dragging out the last syllable and letting it die in the stagnant air, choosing instead to walk his fingers down my thigh.

“Public.”

“Okay.” He sounded more dejected than annoyed. It was an admirable performance, especially considering he stayed exactly as was, not even beginning to shrink away. It was grotesquely inappropriate behaviour, the kind that gets morning commuters to stare daggers at you through transparisteel.

I took his hand and squeezed down hard, digging my nails into his wrist. I’d assumed he would finally pull away, but he kept his hand one mine, thumb rubbing soft patterns across the skin. He offered a shockingly chaste kiss on my neck before rising to stand, stumbling a little as the train screeched to an inelegant halt.

After a short grapple with the ticket barrier, we finally descended the steps, returning to ground level and the city at large. Without pausing, we set off, Kylo following my lead between the alleys of the Artist’s Quarter.

“This is different.”

“Acutely observed, darling.”

A lot of people fall in love with the Artist’s Quarter. I am not one of those people. They gush about its ancient trees that sprawl to the ground, inviting climbers; they write home about the stubby little apartment blocks that slither through its vaguely gridded streets; they crow its praises to visitors walking the cobblestones from their second-story balconies. They will sit for hours on end and tell you over glass after glass of overpriced absinthe about how x tortured soul killed himself in that house, right there, and that’s where they found his novels, about how yeah, that troubled artist used to paint portraits on the pavement because she couldn’t afford canvas.

It makes me want to scream.

But the Artist’s Quarter, for all its faults (read: inhabitants), is quiet, and cheap, and poorly policed. Residents flow in and out without much thought. And a large, scarred man with too much hair and too big biceps would (I hoped) be assumed to be a smithy, or at least trained in the metallurgic arts, rather than a fugitive from a wannabe intergalactic feudal empire.

“Can I interest you fine folks in some finer music and –“

“We’re okay, thanks!” I cut in before anything else could happen, pulling Kylo away by the arm.

“What was that?”

“Just some street hawker, they’re everywhere.”

“Why did he talk to us?”

“It’s what they do.”

He dropped an octave, pulling me slightly closer to skirt a sinkhole.

“They shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you and me both, buddy.”

“That’s intolerable.”

“You get used to it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” The question was half-challenge, half-petulance.

“Kylo, one of the things about being nobody is that people will treat you like you’re nobody.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, that’s the price of anonymity, yeah? Oh, take a left.”

We’d ducked off the main drag down a side street, the summer heat wafting up the scent of rotting garbage from below to mingle with the too-heady smell of jasmine coming from balconies above.

He didn’t respond after rounding the corner, but his lips had quirked up just slightly.

“You cannot kill people you don’t like. Even if they deserve it.”

“I can be surreptitious. No one has to know.”

“I think starting a trend of unsolvable, seemingly weaponless murders might attract undue attention to the area.”

“You’d rather see them alive?”

“Of course not, but if you killed everyone that annoyed you in this city, it would be deserted.”

“Not everyone.”

“No murder.”

“City living seems incredibly tiring.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s the next one on the right.” I pointed up to the top story of a squat building of stucco and whitewashed particle board, a patent lie dressed up in antique wrought-iron.

The stairs creaked beneath human weight on the way up – they’d really done their most to make the place seem wizened in spite of itself. I was older than the building. I have no idea how many of the tenants knew that.

“It’s this one,” I stopped him, gently grabbing his arm before unlocking the door to our new home, for better or worse.

I’d gone minimal, hoping to break with the decadence of Starkiller’s confines. It was far from sumptuous to be kind, but it would do. Four rooms, slightly shifty neighbours who were unlikely to talk to anyone who might come calling. The place was bare but for the few furnishings – no art. No colour. It was unlived in stark black and white.

“Well?”

“It should do.”

“A rousing endorsement. Care to see the rest?”

He’s wandered towards the windows facing a broad and busy avenue, one regularly filled with pickpockets and street musicians hoping to make some excuse for a living off visitors to the capital. It was a colourful place, obscenely bright. And he was entranced.

With his body towards me and his head turned towards the windows he watched the world go by beneath his feet at length, never speaking, brow occasionally furrowing at the oddities below. He’d get used to it.

“It’s different here.”

“Yeah, they pride themselves on that.”

“I spent time on Coruscant, as a child. It was…cosmopolitan. But not like this.”

Kylo never talked about his past. I hadn’t ever asked him to. If he didn’t want me to know, it didn’t interest me.

I crept up behind him, the hardwood floor creaking softly beneath me, and wrapped my arms around his waist, hold him close against me.

“No, I’m fine.” He stepped out of my grasp, shifting to rest his weight along the windowsill, instead taking me in, engulfing me in a mass of sweat and heated limbs.

“I like it,” he offered after some minutes. “It’s not luxurious, but I’ll manage.”

“Kylo?”

“Yes?”

“I think we can be happy here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I hate this. i hate that it's filler, that it took me ages (shit's been weird lately), that it's just not well-written. The proper plot is kicking off shortly, however. Bear with me kids.

**Author's Note:**

> ....And we're back! For now we're trapped in OC verse, but we'll see where that goes (lemme know, lemme know, I can change this outline at the drop of a hat). A few notes on the setting, since we're not all familiar with it like we are with Finalizer/Starkiller Base:  
>  Each 'district' is a commercial or residential zone; most are modelled (in my head) on different areas I've lived in. If it helps you to picture it at all:  
> Lena's mother lives very centrally (did someone say rent-controlled apartment) in the Financial Sector which looks a lot like London's City or San Francisco's Financial District: chrome, high-rises, slightly crumbling, utterly unprofessional.  
> Lena's business dealings usually take place in the Tech Sector which more closely resembles the newly rebuilt parts of East Berlin, especially the most modern parts of the Mitte.  
> Lena and Kylo's flat is in the Artist's Quarter, which looks a lot like the older parts of the French Quarter/Treme neighborhoods of New Orleans.


End file.
